5 Times Sherlock Took a Bath
by IShouldBeOverThis
Summary: A silly 5 plus 1, S/J slash in the plus 1, but I'm putting it in a separate chapter so you can read just the first part if you want.  First published fan fiction, comments welcome.
1. Five Times Sherlock Took a Bath

Five Times Sherlock Took a Bath and One Time He Took a Shower

Sherlock took baths, which surprised John. He had presumed that Sherlock found that the time needed to clean oneself was a waste of both time and energy (dull, dull, dull) and would get it over as quickly as possible. Although, when he thought about it, Sherlock did have a personal vanity thing going on (which he would deny) in which he kept himself very well groomed even as the flat around him grew ever more disorganized. In fact, he was almost a sensualist, like a sleek cat, in his perfectly tailored suits and shirts. John wondered where he got the money and also when he shopped.

5) The first time was the day after the case that John would come to call A Study in Pink, when John was bringing over what remained of his things. Sherlock was in the bath when John went out, and was still there when John returned. A little worried, John tentatively approached the door and listened for any sound.

"Thinking, John. Go away."

4) The second time John was reading peacefully in the sitting room. "John!" bellowed Sherlock. "John, I need you!" Flinching, John ran up the stairs, thinking perhaps that Sherlock had slipped and struck his head, but once at the door of the bath, he hesitated. Obviously Sherlock wasn't completely incapacitated if he was able to yell, well, to summon really. The call had not sounded like someone panicking or in pain. Sherlock was surely naked in there and the thought disturbed John slightly even though he was a doctor and a soldier and had seen many naked men and women in his time and had showered easily with men.

Remembering his doctor's training decided him. He opened the door. It was dark. He fumbled for the light.

Sherlock's long, pale arm reached out from the shower curtain which was mercifully drawn around the claw-footed tub. The shower curtain was in a ghastly chocolate brown and pea green that matched the wallpaper and tiles of the room in that awful style that had fortunately died in the 70's but was somehow memorialized in their flat.

"Soap," snapped Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I've run out of soap. There are bars under the sink."

"You made me run upstairs to get you soap?"

Petulantly, "I can't get out. It's cold."

John, already resigned to Sherlock's madness, dug under the sink. There were only bars of his own soap.

"Sherlock, I can only find my soap. Where's yours?"

"I ran out. " The fingers waggled impatiently.

John sighed, took the bar out of the packaging and placed it in the outstretched hand.

"Turn out the light when you leave."

3) The third time Sherlock had been in the bath for nearly two hours. John walked by the door (it was on the way to his own room, after all). There was a particular floral smell, rather nauseating, radiating from the room into the hall.

John had a wild thought of Sherlock drowning under a mound of flowers.

"John? Come in for a moment."

Come into the bath? With another man bathing? Had the man no sense of propriety or personal boundaries at all? Wait, don't answer that.

Really worried at what he might find, John opened the door.

Sherlock lay in a bath filled with bubbles. The nauseating smell was cheap bubble bath.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm testing how long the scent of the bubble bath would linger on a body. I've used the whole bottle. Ideally I should be a dead body, but Molly won't let me bring home a whole body. I've been lowering the temperature every 15 minutes or so to lower my body temperature. Can you open the window for me?"

Good for Molly, thought John. Then he vaguely wondered how Sherlock got his specimens home. Did he wrap them in plastic and bring them home in a cab? Did he have them shipped? Was that even legal? Did he think he would simply sling the body bag over his shoulder and carry it home?

"John?"

"Sherlock, it's 10 degrees out there."

"Yes," said Sherlock in that annoying tone that said why-are-you-bothering-me-with-trivia-that-I-already- know?

2) The fourth time John accidently walked in on him. The light was off so he had presumed, incorrectly, that the room was empty. He started and almost slipped on the rug when he realized that Sherlock was naked in the tub.

Sherlock lay with his head resting on the back, eyes shut, fingers templed in front of him, exactly as he did on the couch. Only he was naked and only his nose, eyes and tips of his fingers were out of the water. His dark hair floated around his head like a halo.

John backed out without a word.

Sometime later Sherlock came down dressed in his slim pants and a white shirt. His hair was still damp and lay in ringlets around his forehead. The shirt clung to him strangely as if he had not quite dried himself off before putting it on.

"Um, sorry," offered John.

"What? Oh, that. Didn't really notice."

How does one notice without really noticing, thought John idly, but didn't say it out loud for fear of another lecture on observing vs. caring.

"Well, that's good then." Pause. "Do you always take baths? I'd have thought you found them a waste of time."

"I find that some problems are better suited to the bath than the couch. Many people find lying in a bath conducive to creative thought. Look at Archimedes. With the lights out it's almost like a sensory deprivation tank."

"So that explains the light being out."

"Yes," in that you're-being-obvious-again voice.

John had another wild vision of coming home one night to discover Sherlock drowned in the tub, slipped under while asleep or in a trance or whatever he did, fingers still templed in front of him.

"Do you use the nicotine patches."

"No, I take No-Doz. The patches kept coming off in the water."

1) The fifth time John came home from the clinic desperately in need of a piss. He dashed up the stairs, only to find the door shut and voices coming from inside: Sherlock's low voice and another younger voice—very young.

"Yes," he heard Sherlock, "just like that. Now spread your legs a bit."

"What, like this?"

"Exactly."

John's head swam. Of all the things he'd imagined Sherlock being into, pedophilia was not one of them, but then he'd been absolutely certain that Sherlock would never take drugs either.

"Good," he heard Sherlock say. "Now just fall back, don't worry, I'll stop your fall."

What the…thought John.

There was an enormous splash, a cry of pain, the sound of water splashing around, bodies moving. John stood transfixed, undecided if he should break the door down, or slink away quietly and use Mrs. Hudson's. A few moments later the door opened. A young man, who at least looked legal, came out—fully dressed—with large splashes of water on his clothes.

Sherlock on the other hand was also fully dressed but covered in water.

"Well, I'll be going then, ta," said the young man and sauntered off down the stairs.

Sherlock was drying himself off, rather ineffectually. The tub was half full and there was water all over the floor.

"Oh, John, do you need the room? Cal and I were testing how much water would get on someone if they were knocked backwards into a tub. Less than I expected actually."

"You fell backwards into the tub? Are you mental? You could have cracked your skull on the side, broken an arm, your back, anything."

Sherlock looked surprised as if such things hadn't occurred to him. They probably hadn't.

"I'm sorry, John. I supposed that I would be able to stop myself."

"Why didn't you ask me to help?"

"You're not the right size. And you probably would have tried to stop me."

"Yes, you're right. I would have damn well tried to stop you."

They stood staring at each other strangely for a few beats. Sherlock still looking surprised and John fuming.

At last John stormed into the bathroom shutting the door.


	2. And One Time He Took a Shower

+ And one time Sherlock took a shower.

Sherlock also took showers. When he was in a hurry. When his experiments had been particularly disgusting, messy, or caustic.

He was humming Brahms to himself when John slipped in behind him and slid his arms around the younger man's slim, soap-slick torso.

"John," Sherlock gasped. "I've told you, I've never had much luck with sex in the bath. You need to be the same height or at least the same leg length, which we're not, or one of you has to support the other, and while both of us are strong, I doubt we are strong enough to support the other's weight for as long as it takes, or I have to have my knees bent the whole time which is uncomfortable or you have water shooting in your face and the water makes you slippery but washes away your natural oils, all of which is compounded by the curvature of this tub which will make maintaining verticality difficult."

John ignored him. He was getting better at that. He slid his hands down over the other man's hips.

"Oh, John," cried Sherlock. Eyes shut he flailed about trying to brace himself. He grabbed hold of the shower curtain and with the rapid fire sound of several Christmas Crackers popping…ripped it down onto their heads.

"I told you," said Sherlock smugly.

"Shut up, Sherlock," said John.


End file.
